Growing up in western Pennsylvania, Gates Watson spent his childhood outdoors. Hunting, fishing, skiing and biking were his favorite things to do—and fortunately for him, he found a way to turn his love for life outdoors into a career at The Conservation Fund.
After graduating with a business degree from Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, Watson started a youth adventure program for inner city kids. He spent the next seven years in Pittsburgh before accepting a position in the Fund’s Montana office. In 2001, he packed up and moved across country, where he dove into conservation work and adapted quickly to the new environment. “Montana is unique in that it’s so large, every corner has its own ecosystem,” he explains. “You find special connections with different parts of the state.”
Watson’s first few years in Montana were consumed with business development—finding partners and places that needed the Fund’s help. A big part of his job involves building on relationships with our partners, such as the Bureau of Land Management, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) and individual landowners.
Watson learned about the conservation needs of private landowners in the Rocky Mountain Front during a presentation by some of the Fund’s partners in 2007. Fifth- generation ranch families were struggling to keep the land they’d lived and worked on their entire lives. If they lost this land, that could also mean the loss of critical wildlife habitat in an area rich with biological diversity—including the last place where grizzly bears roam freely between the mountains and the plains.
Watson proposed that the Fund work alongside The Nature Conservancy and the USFWS to help conserve land in the Rocky Mountain Front, and they the Fund's help. Since then, Watson has worked with his team to gather resources towards protecting 220,000 acres along the Front.
In addition to saving land in the Rocky Mountain Front, Watson's other projects include conservation along the Bull and Flathead rivers and the Meeteetse Spires Area of Critical Environmental Concern in the Beartooth Mountains. Read about the Fund's work in Montana here. “We can really be proud of what we do,” he says. “ It’s extremely rewarding work.”
Photo courtesy Gates Watson
The Conservation Fund forges partnerships to conserve America’s legacy of land and water resources. Through land acquisition, community and economic development and training and education, the Fund and its partners demonstrate balanced conservation solutions that emphasize the integration of economic and environmental goals.
In September 2010 the Zumbro River flooded, leaving many communities in Minnesota underwater and causing millions of dollars in damage. Clint Miller, the Fund's Upper Midwest Field Representative, shares his experience dealing with the flooding, both as a victim and as a firefighter helping people in the flooded communities. As a Fund staffer who works on conservation projects that often include flood management goals, Clint has a unique perspective on the impact conservation work can have on communities.
I have seen flooding and flood damage on television before, but it wasn’t until last September when the Zumbro River flooded that I actually witnessed a home on the verge of tumbling into a river. As a senior firefighter with Pine Island Fire & Rescue, I was in charge of a single engine that responded to dozens of 911 calls from people caught in their homes as the waters started to rise. When I responded to one emergency call, I arrived to find the propane tank bouncing against the home, which was completely surrounded by raging waters. It was too dangerous for my crew, and I had to tell the homeowner there was nothing we could do to save the house.
I live a quarter-mile from the Zumbro, and even after a heroic effort by my wife, neighbors and volunteers, we ended up with river water and sewage in our first floor. A surge of water came through the neighborhoods so fast that I had water lapping at the driveway—10 feet above the river level in my backyard! My wife said at one point there were a dozen people in the house moving our belongings upstairs and helping her sandbag. We don't even know who they are or where they came from.
There are dozens of homes in my town and surrounding communities that are completely uninhabitable. The scale of the flooding is beyond anything in the recorded history of the community. I can now say I’ve seen firsthand the need for The Conservation Fund’s work. The Fund and our partners save strategic landscapes so that communities can better manage flood waters, potentially avoiding disasters like the one in my community.
Knowing the importance of the Fund’s work is what made me get back to it just a few days after the flooding receded. Sure, I’ll be dealing with insurance and clean up at home, but the work we are doing along the Missouri River with the United States Army Corp of Engineers and the other conservation projects I am working on seem that much more significant now.
The roots of The Conservation Fund’s Resourceful Communities Program (RCP) emerged in 1990, when Mikki Sager, then an administrative assistant, and veteran Fund staffer Dick Ludington were approached by residents of Tyrrell County, N.C. A big conservation project had taken land off the county tax rolls, costing the small community needed revenue. Listening to community concerns and knowing the region’s potential, Ludington hatched an idea: build a visitor center, with bike and kayak rentals, youth conservationists and more to create jobs and businesses from the region’s rich natural resources. He asked Sager to write a grant proposal—her first.
To Sager’s delight, her grant request of $24,000 was approved—but only as a match, requiring her to raise twice that amount from other sources. Rising to the challenge, she succeeded—and soon, RCP was launched.
RCP helps North Carolina’s rural communities address persistent poverty by tapping natural resources to create jobs and strengthen economies. Over time, RCP has had its share of watershed moments, including the program’s first “Grassroots Convening” in 2001. The statewide gathering of 20 community, government, business and environmental leaders who met to share ideas and forge new partnerships was a resounding success and is an annual event. In 2010, more than 270 partners participated in Grassroots Convening and leadership workshops across the state.
Each year, RCP partners share ways to farm sustainably, say, or develop businesses that use natural resources well. As a result, their communities are not forced to choose between a healthy environment or decent jobs but instead work toward solutions that provide both, while confronting issues of social justice.
As Sager says, “It’s this human dynamic—all the challenges of people and place—that makes our work so meaningful.”
Michael Cox, our controller, shares his view on why our work matters.
As controller at The Conservation Fund, while recording each transaction of our operations and real estate projects, I have come to appreciate all the work behind these numbers.
I grew up on a farm in eastern North Carolina. About once a year, I go back to visit my family—and the land. In doing so, I’m reminded of the many valuable lessons my parents shared about people and their land. I'd like to tell you a story about one such lesson of people and their land in North Carolina’s Sandhills.
It's mid-January. Mikki Sager, who heads our Resourceful Communities Program (RCP), and partner Ammie Jenkins, executive director of the Sandhills Family Heritage Association, are discussing their progress in protecting historically African-American lands in the area. They’re also planning ahead for a Farmers Market—the first African American-the first in the region to be run by African-Americans. Just listening to them, and scanning the carefully chronicled maps of the land, brought back a flood of memories and made me nostalgic for my childhood—and the rural character that is still very much alive in this community.
Ms. Jenkins explained how important these lands were in the early- to mid-20th century. The care and protection of the land was crucial because it offered so much, including: farming to nourish a family, shelter for safe haven from racial persecution, employment and opportunity, roots and leaves for medicinal purposes, and a healthy home environment. Today, the care and protection of this land is about cherishing and passing on this legacy, with the real economic and environmental benefits still present.
As we toured the community, we talked about the importance of connecting people and their land. Given the temptation for younger landowners to profit from development, they must be inspired by a vision big and simple enough to capture their hearts. I’m reassured that the vision of the Sandhills Family Heritage Association will do just that.
Tom Duffus, our Upper Midwest Director, shares how protecting land at a state park in Missouri also dramatically improved the life of a local farmer.
November 20, 2009
Last week, I participated in a barbeque celebration in Missouri, where we’ve added some key farmland/former wet prairie to Pershing State Park. At first, the celebration seemed like a typical gathering of what we call the “alphabet soup of agencies”—the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, the Natural Resources Conservation Service and the Missouri departments of conservation and natural resources.
But this was much more than official acronyms. This was an assembly of people who have dedicated themselves to this place—and to a vision for restoring and protecting it—for 15 years. I could only be humbled by the commitment, tenacity and dedication of all these people over such a long period of time.
The best part of the day, though, was meeting with the farmer, Mr. Zell, whose land we bought. Mr. Zell said he wanted to see me before I left town. I drove up to Mr. Zell’s farm—his new farm, the one we helped him exchange for the one we bought. He was glad to see me. I helped him load soybeans into his grain elevator, and we talked about the weather, the harvest and his family. He took photos of me with his cell phone, and insisted on a photo with just the two of us. (Farmers usually avoid cameras.) The harvest was a great one, and the wet weather—though always a subject of complaint—was easy to deal with now that he was no longer farming a wetland and fighting back nature with an old levy and water pumps.
A hearty farmer through and through, Mr. Zell cried. His life had been changed. And I realized that we change the map in our work every day—and that is monumental and historic. Sometimes, what I need to be reminded of is that we actually change people’s lives—forever. Land conservation is good for people. It is good for nature, but mostly, it is for people.
This work also changes my life—every time we close on a deal.
The Fund is full of interesting people who put their unique skills to work toward common conservation goals. Read the profiles and stories below to learn more about our staff:
Strategic Conservation Program Manager
Land Trust Loan Program Manager
Midwest Director
Natural Capital Investment Fund Director, North Carolina
Montana State Director
Meet Our Resourceful Communities Program!
Based in our North Carolina office, the staff of RCP have a mission: They work with North Carolina’s rural communities to address persistent poverty by tapping natural resources to create jobs and strengthen local economies. Learn more about the RCP team and their work here.
Conserving strategic lands can manage or even prevent future flooding in a region. When Clint Miller, the Fund's Upper Midwest Field Representative, experienced the devastating effects of flooding in his community, it made him appreciate the impact of his work even more.
Saving a Family Ranch in Wyoming
Luke Lynch, Wyoming's State Director for the Fund, shares his experience working with Freddie Botur to keep his family's ranch from being developed.
The Fund is dedicated to reconnecting kids with nature. Here’s a story from Mike Kelly, our Great Lakes Office Director, about inspiring kids in Michigan to take up his favorite activity: fishing!
A Dream Come True: When Conservation Goals Become a Reality
Tom Duffus, the Fund's Upper Midwest Director, offers his thoughts on ten years of work and what it means to finally accomplish Minnesota's largest conservation deal.
Saving Land and Changing Lives
Here at the Fund, we believe conservation is about people, as much as places. Tom Duffus shares his experience with a farmer that shows why.
Like any good planner, Ole Amundsen knows his way around posters, mapping software, reports as thick as phone books—deliverables of many kinds. But what Amundsen plans is something unique: connections.
A strategic conservation program manager at The Conservation Fund, Amundsen works with communities to translate their priorities—a favorite forest, walkable neighborhoods, native wildlife—into practical plans for a “green infrastructure” that connects all these features. He arms communities with a map of what matters, so that local leaders can make planning decisions without compromising quality of life. As he puts it, “We help communities take charge of their future.”
In east Texas, for instance, Amundsen recently brought together Angelina County leaders and area U.S. Forest Service staff for the first time, resulting in plans to raise funds for upgrading forest facilities that attract tourists. In Indianapolis, he’s working with the Central Indiana Land Trust to knit conservation priorities together across nine counties. And at an even bigger scale, he and Fund colleagues are crafting a conservation plan to mitigate for energy pipeline impacts on wildlife across 14 states.
Conservationists have gotten good at identifying places to save, Amundsen says, but still need more expertise in connecting them thoughtfully: “That’s what we provide. We can say, these are your important areas for wildlife, and here’s how the animals move from one forest block to another. If we connect the blocks, you can often use these lands for recreation.”
Amundsen knows a thing or two about the importance of connections. As a child, his family lived “off the grid” in Vermont on private property in the middle of Calvin Coolidge State Forest. Their small farm, three miles down a dirt road, was ideal for a kid who loved the outdoors. But when Amundsen was 8 years old, his parents reluctantly sold the property for financial reasons and moved to more conventional Hanover, New Hampshire, where 3rd graders took violin lessons and already dreamed about college. The culture shock hit hard.
It was much later, while working at the Environmental Protection Agency, that Amundsen stumbled across the land trust community—and a connection was made. Conservation offered landowners choices, and he wanted to be part of that. He enrolled at Massachusetts Institute of Technology for a graduate degree in land use planning. Then he worked for a regional land trust, followed by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and, finally, as a consultant for land trusts nationwide before joining the Fund in 2007.
Today, Amundsen works from his home in Ithaca, New York, on a one-acre property graced with old apple trees, a coursing stream and visitors like turkeys, cedar waxwings and scarlet tanagers. His office window looks out on the 500-acre forest next door—an inviting canopy that he, his wife and two daughters enjoy exploring. “My kids have some of those experiences I had growing up,” he says with satisfaction. And that’s perhaps the best connection of all.
Rick Larson, 51, was a nature lover—and determined entrepreneur—early. Growing up in the outer suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio, during the 1970s, Larson was drawn to the beech and maple woods near his home. Every autumn, he shuffled through the leaves dropped by the golden sugar maples. Come spring, those same trees offered another bonus: sap for making syrup.
Making maple syrup is an ambitious kind of family fun: 40 gallons of sap generate one gallon of syrup. Still, one spring, armed with patience and second-hand buckets from a nearby sugar farm, Larson and his family decided to try. He recalls hopefully lugging buckets heavy with sap home in a wagon; pouring the sap into pots and pans on the stove, and watching it boil down to sweet syrup—while steaming up the kitchen so completely that the wallpaper began to peel. Undeterred, Larson built a cinderblock “boiling off” site in the backyard, complete with a salvaged and rusted chimney to continue making, and even selling, maple syrup – until one insufficiently purified bottle exploded in a neighbor’s pantry. About making syrup, Larson says simply: “You gotta want it.”
Larson knows about “wanting it.” Over and over, throughout his career, he has brought a deep commitment to people and places. He started out as a community organizer in North Carolina, and then, after studying economic development in business school, he helped rural students become entrepreneurs and, later, he invested venture capital in clean technology. Across the years and jobs, he has worked to connect people who make rural goods— food, fiber, fuel, medicine—with customers.
And that’s what he still does today, with The Conservation Fund’s Natural Capital Investment Fund (NCIF). NCIF funds new and growing businesses in the Southeast that use natural resources sustainably. Based in North Carolina, Larson frequently is on the road. On any given day, he could be meeting in a bank board room, touring a farmer’s field or donning a hard hat to visit a growing factory.
Recently, for example, Larson worked with a range of financing sources to arrange financing for a small company, Carolina Wood Pellets, that turns sawdust waste into wood pellets to cleanly fuel residential stoves and commercial boilers. NCIF provided a $250,000 investment and extensive market research to help Carolina Wood Pellets attract more than $2.5 million from other funders. The company’s plant in Franklin, North Carolina, will employ 20 to 30 local workers and generate a renewable form of energy from the wood waste of area mills.
Larson sees growing opportunity for rural communities to rethink how they survive, and even prosper, by sustainably using their natural resources to generate goods people need. “In a time of globalization, land, forests and talented rural folks are assets that cannot be imported,” he says. “You can’t buy a locally produced tomato in Mexico. You can’t run ecotourism enterprises in southwest Virginia from China. You can’t generate electrical power here by installing solar panels overseas. At NCIF, our opportunity is to help local rural businesses provide unique goods and services to the markets around them. I feel so fortunate to work on this every day.”
At home, Larson and his family buy locally made goods whenever they can. Still, the mild Southern winters force him to buy his favorite maple syrup from up North. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
A bulldozer pushed Peg Kohring into conservation. Nearly 40 years ago, when Kohring was a teenager in southern Michigan, she worked for a botanic garden. Collecting plant seeds along the train tracks one summer afternoon, she came nose-to-nose with a bulldozer chewing up the dirt. “What are you doing, bulldozing my plants?” she scowled at the operator. His response: “What are you doing, trespassing?”
Kohring knew she had lost. But that brief exchange sparked a determined career of wins for conservation.
As The Conservation Fund’s Midwest director, Kohring works across the region, from farm to forest, open prairie to buzzing city. She and her colleagues help community leaders “sustainably protect the environment,” as she puts it, with conservation strategies that work both economically and environmentally. In Michigan alone, these efforts have saved 15,000 acres of farmland—a source of cherries, grapes, beans, blueberries, corn and tradition.
Kohring describes the Fund’s work as community-driven: “We don’t come with a conservation agenda, like many environmental groups. Instead, we sit down with the community leaders, civic leaders, and listen to what that community wants. It could be a free trail, a public park, a way to prevent flooding or a way to protect water quality. We’re the tools in the hands of communities, helping to make conservation happen.”
As an example, Kohring points to the Fund’s efforts to restore Michigan’s Galien River, which flows through farmland, a city park and neighborhoods before winding its way to Lake Michigan. Agricultural run-off and failing septic systems have polluted the Galien. Together, the Fund and our partners work with regional leaders to refine and a carry out a management plan to improve the river’s water quality.
“This project supports tourism in the area known as New Buffalo because people visit its beach and marina to enjoy the Galien," Kohring says. "Our work to restore the river keeps sediment out of the marina, offering cleaner water for recreation. So we gain environmentally and economically.”
No bulldozer required.
Watch Peg in this video about the Greenseams program, an innovative and effective flood management program that benefits local residents, farmers, and wildlife habitat around Milwaukee.
Utility infielder. Jack Russell terrier. Foot soldier. Whatever Reggie Hall’s official job description at The Conservation Fund—for the record, he’s a real estate associate and manager of the Land Trust Loan Program—he moves beyond it. He’s created a national network for young conservation professionals. He’s sunk his teeth into negotiations from Massachusetts to Illinois. And he’s facilitated the conservation of some 100,000 acres of land—and counting.
Growing up on New Hampshire’s Sea Coast, Hall, now 33, planned to become a marine biologist. “The beach, the tide pools, the lobsters, the shells, were literally my backyard,” he says. “I lived and breathed the ocean.” But during freshman year at Williams College, an unfortunate score on a Biology 101 midterm—something he calls a “blessing in disguise”—prompted Hall to try geology. It stuck. “In geology, you read about something, and then you went out there to see it in the landscape—and that resonated with me,” he says.
So did the power of personality. Hall’s favorite professor was a retired environmental lawyer and sheep farmer who frequently showed up to class wearing sweatpants stuffed into muddy Wellies, with a neat Brooks Brothers bowtie complimenting his flannel shirt. He started each class with a reading from what he called the “Book of Henry David,” sharing the insights of Henry David Thoreau.
Hall, at times a ski patroller, bagpiper, squash player and rowing captain, started down a career of conservation. He attended Vermont Law School, learning how tax tools can help people protect their favorite places, while spending vacations exploring the White Mountains and Berkshires. Finally, armed with new knowledge of law and land, Hall headed back outdoors—professionally. He spent five years at local land conservation organizations in Florida and North Carolina, where the impact of his vocation hit home: “You live where you work. If you have a bad day, in the evening you can swing by that family farm that you just helped to protect, and the positive impact you have on your community comes into perspective.”
Today, Hall has traded up to suits, ties and The Conservation Fund—“the major leagues,” as he puts it. He is still in swift pursuit of outdoor adventure. And whether he’s visiting Capitol Hill or biking along the Potomac to work, he sees the dividends of his work almost every time he heads out the door. “I’m being paid to pursue my passion,” he says.
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